


A Fortuitous Fall

by LPK9



Series: A Fortuitous Fall [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Novel, Regency Romance, Sweet, clean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LPK9/pseuds/LPK9
Summary: Sometimes one false step causes startling consequences.  Mr. Collins is knocked unconscious while dancing at the Netherfield Ball and requires medical care at Netherfield.  This, in turn, prevents the Bingleys and Mr. Darcy from decamping to London after the ball.  The situation grows only more complicated when Mr. Collins wakes up ... changed.THIS STORY HAS NOW BEEN PUBLISHED ON AMAZON. I had to take down most of it per Amazon requirements when self-publishing. The final book has additional content (Epilogue, some changes and additions throughout), so please read my final ebook ... and it will also be available on Kindle Unlimited. Please check it out. :-)
Relationships: Anne de Bourgh/Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley
Series: A Fortuitous Fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980769
Comments: 24
Kudos: 381





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Netherfield Hall was ablaze with lights and Mr. William Collins, heir to the estate of Longbourn, rector to Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings, smiled with delight as he exited the carriage. A moment later, mindful of his duties, he turned back to hand his chosen bride out of the carriage. He had not yet offered for Miss Elizabeth’s hand, but the time would come, and soon. Perhaps tomorrow?

Miss Elizabeth took his hand with winsome hesitation; she was a delicate flower, his fair cousin, beautiful, and very clever. He had never imagined, as a youth living in a dreary house in Kensington with his miserly father, that he would have a handsome gentlewoman as his bride. But here he was, risen in the world to rector of Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself and heir to a small but well tended estate.

His future was wonderfully bright.

The Bennet family, the father, mother, and five mostly handsome daughters, wended their way to the front door of Netherfield with Mr. Collins, oddly enough, in their wake. He had meant to stay close to the woman who would be his wife, but she was quick on her feet, Miss Elizabeth, and he found himself briefly distracted by the front edifice of Netherfield. The building had been designed with a neoclassical style vaguely reminiscent of the early designs of the architect John Nash, who had …

But no, that was of no importance at all. Architecture was the concern of the upper classes and for royalty, not for Mr. Collins of Hunsford parsonage.

The foyer of Netherfield, with its receiving line, also had its distractions. Various paintings and sketches adorned the walls, including one which was quite definitely an early work of J. F. M. Turner. What was such a precious object doing in a leased home?

No, that was of no importance either! He must focus on the matter at hand!

“Welcome to Netherfield, Mr. Collins,” Mr. Bingley, the master of Netherfield, said with a friendly smile. He was a pleasant chap, Mr. Bingley, and destined to wed Miss Jane Bennet, the eldest of the Bennet sisters. Collins would have chosen Jane if she had not been already spoken for; she was even lovelier than her sister Elizabeth. But he knew it would not do to poach such a handsome woman from another man.

“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” he replied exuberantly. “It is truly my delight to be here this night. You are so kind to invite me, when I am not well known to you at all. It reminds me of the gracious condescension of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh!”

He would have continued in this vein if he had not observed Miss Elizabeth slipping away down the main hallway toward a cacophony of noise. She had agreed, with becoming modesty, to dance the first set with him, and he must be there when the music began.

With a lengthy apology — it would not do to insult his host and his sisters, Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley — he darted as quickly as his ponderous form would allow in pursuit of Miss Elizabeth.

The ballroom was large and already full of men and women in their finery. There was a cluster of red coated officers from the local militia in one corner, with a bevy of young women in their ball gowns swarming around them like bees to honeysuckle. 

A trio of musicians were setting up at one end of the large, vaulted room; the pianoforte and its master dominated the group, with a violinist and flutist standing nearby. It was not yet time for the music to start, which was well since Miss Elizabeth had disappeared into the crowd near the edge of the room near the refreshments.

The clergyman took a few steps forward and craned his head. Miss Elizabeth was a petite woman and he still could not see her, but his eyes caught the upstanding figure of a tall, handsome gentleman who was standing near a tall, potted plant, looking haughty. Collins hesitated. He was quite certain he had not met the gentleman before but somehow his bearing was that of the glorious and condescending Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

A moment later, the gentleman moved forward briskly and Collins watched him as he approached, yes, it was Miss Elizabeth! How delightful that Collins had found her! He walked with dignity toward the two and heard Miss Elizabeth state gravely, “Thank you, Mr. Darcy, my sister is indeed much improved in health.”

The beautiful second Bennet girl turned toward the rector, her face calm, and he beamed at her. Mr. Collins had found Miss Elizabeth just in time, as the violinist was playing a few last practice notes and the various couples were making their way onto the dance floor. He held out an arm and captured his fair maiden. She really was such a delightful woman, Miss Elizabeth, and so very modest! Lady Catherine would be pleased.

They proceeded to the dance line and faced one another. The initial strains rang out and the dancing began — men and women, twirling and stepping and bobbing in time with the music. Mr. Collins twirled and stepped and bobbed with the worst of them — he found himself in the wrong place much of the time. He had very little experience with dancing, unfortunately.

There was a sudden bump behind him from another gentleman and he stepped forward hastily to get away, which entangled him in Miss Elizabeth’s gown. She drew back a step quickly and he jerked his foot, but his heel caught in the fabric and he was falling backwards and …

Everything went black.

//////////

Mr. Darcy was standing gloomily in the corner staring at the dancers when the catastrophe occurred. The object of his absurd obsession, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, had been dancing with a lumbering man, a clergyman based on his attire, who obviously had no business being on the dance floor. There was a sudden collision between the fool and Bingley, Miss Elizabeth jumped back and the idiotic clergyman fell down with the accompanying sound of ripping fabric.

There was a cry of distress from someone and Darcy rushed forward in horror. Miss Elizabeth …

Was well. The lace at the bottom of her gown had ripped, but she was still modestly attired and unharmed. Her distressed gaze was on the individual lying supine on the floor, his eyes closed, a lock of lank hair in disarray across his forehead.

Darcy knelt down next to the man and gently shook his shoulder, but Eliza … Miss Elizabeth’s partner did not move. Pemberley’s master quickly touched the man’s wrist and was relieved to find a pulse. He was not dead, at any rate.

“I say, Darcy, is he all right?” Bingley asked worriedly, kneeling down next to the recumbent form.

“He is alive, but he is unconscious. We had best get a couple of footmen to carry him upstairs to a bedroom and you should send someone to fetch the local apothecary, Mr. Jones.”

“I will do so, but perhaps we will need three footmen,” Charles agreed. “He is a tall fellow.”

He was also rather plump. The unknown individual was well fed for a member of the clergy.

Darcy rose to his feet and turned to face Miss Elizabeth, who was standing a few feet away, her lips parted in distress. On her right, her arm wrapped protectively around her, stood the handsome eldest Miss Bennet, whose face had lost much of its usual placidity.

“Is Mr. Collins all right?” Elizabeth asked in concern.

“His pulse is strong, Miss Elizabeth, but he is unconscious.” 

“Oh dear! I do not know what happened!”

“Lizzy, what happened?” A new voice demanded

Darcy sighed inwardly and turned toward the excitable, garrulous, and vulgar Mrs. Bennet, who was always loud and would no doubt be even louder in the midst of a crisis.

“Mr. Collins fell, Mama,” Elizabeth stated in a repressive tone.

“Oh, dear me! Poor Mr. Collins! Will he not wake up?”

“He is unconscious, Mrs. Bennet,” Darcy replied gravely. “The apothecary is being called.”

“How could you have allowed him to fall, Lizzy?” Mrs. Bennet demanded irascibly. “How is he to make you an offer of marriage if he is unconscious?”

Darcy felt his heart lurch in his chest. Miss Elizabeth to be married to that ... that oaf?

“Mother, this is hardly the time to discuss such a matter,” the girl hissed indignantly.

“I believe that Mr. Collins and Mr. Bingley accidentally collided on the dance floor,” Darcy stated. “It was a mere accident.”

Elizabeth shot him a startled and grateful look and Mrs. Bennet’s peevish expression relaxed.

“Perhaps he will die,” she mused aloud. “If he does, I wonder what will happen to the entail on Longbourn? Perhaps we will be able to keep our home when your father passes on, girls!”

“Mother!” Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth cried out together in embarrassed anguish.

Darcy decided to have mercy on them and retreat. Surely this Mr. Collins, presumably the heir to Longbourn, would wake up soon.

/////////////

Netherfield  
The next morning

“Mr. Collins is still unconscious,” Bingley stated, taking a hasty sip of his coffee and grimacing as he scalded his throat. “Mr. Jones says he has sustained a concussion, at least, and must be kept quiet.”

To Darcy’s considerable surprise, Miss Caroline Bingley was at the breakfast table. Miss Bingley was rarely up early, and given that she had been hostess to a large ball, it was even more surprising that she had risen from her bed at this hour.

“He should be sent back to Longbourn,” she said, her lips tight. “Surely we have no obligation to care for yet another sickly Bennet.”

“He is not a Bennet, Caroline,” Bingley replied calmly. “He is their cousin, but his name is Collins.”

Caroline shook her head, “It matters not. He is a member of the Bennet family and must return to Longbourn.”

“And I say he cannot,” her brother replied firmly. “Mr. Jones insists that he not be moved. He was injured during a ball held at Netherfield and I feel responsible, especially since I am the one who collided with him.”

“He was out of position, Bingley, not you,” Darcy pointed out mildly.

“Yes, it was the clergyman’s fault!” Caroline agreed with a satisfied glance at Darcy. “Mr. Darcy agrees with me.”

“I did not say I agree, Miss Bingley. I was merely making it clear that Bingley is not at fault. Clearly, given that he is unconscious and the apothecary says he cannot be moved, he should stay here at Netherfield.”

Caroline bit her lip, her expression outraged, but fell silent.

“I had planned to go to London, today,” Charles said cheerfully, “but given that we have an injured guest, I will stay home.”

**  
Author note: I encourage you to sign up for my Regency Romance Newsletter. You will receive a new short story I wrote just for subscribers called “A Busy and Blessed Day”. You will also be among the first to hear about special promotions, book releases, etc. Use the following link to join and get your free copy of “A Busy and Blessed Day”.**

**www.subscribepage.com/s1p4z6  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

“Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy looked up in alarm from the book that he had been holding in his hands.

Not that he was reading it. Because Miss Elizabeth’s bright eyes and light figure had filled his mind and he was distracted from ... from … A book on sheep diseases. 

“No doubt any gentlewoman would be gratified to learn that the mere thought of her had distracted a gentleman from such a riveting topic,” he mused wryly. 

This was one of the very few books on the shelves that he had not already read. Really, Bingley’s library was a disgrace. If he was going to spend much more time at Netherfield, he must acquire more books.

“Yes, Miss Bingley?” he asked uneasily, and then relaxed, “Good morning, Mrs. Hurst.”

Given that Mrs. Hurst was present, it was unlikely that Caroline Bingley was plotting to compromise him.

“We came to speak to you of Charles.” Miss Bingley said, her eyes worried. “He is dangerously close to offering for Miss Bennet.”

Darcy frowned in confusion, “You cannot know that, Miss Bingley. Your brother has shown considerable interest in other handsome, blonde ladies in the past, and never made an offer.”

Caroline Bingley shook her head, “It has gone farther than that, has it not, Louisa?”

“It has,” her sister agreed. “Last night, Sir William Lucas announced loudly that there was a general expectation among the people of this pathetic town that Charles would make an offer to Miss Bennet. Surely you must have heard it.”

“Mr. Darcy was arranging for the care of that clumsy parson after he tripped over Miss Elizabeth,” Miss Bingley told her sister. “Really, these Bennets and their tiresome relations. You missed almost the entire ball, Mr. Darcy!”

“I thought it my duty,” Darcy replied. In actual fact, he was not very fond of dancing and Bingley adored it, so he had thought it the kind thing to arrange for the proper disposition of Mr. Collins, thus allowing Bingley to return to the smiles of Miss Bennet. Darcy had considered asking Miss Elizabeth to dance but in retrospect, that would have been a poor idea. It was best not to give the young lady any hopes of winning the master of Pemberley.

“Mrs. Bennet said the same thing at dinner, that her insipid daughter would soon be mistress of Netherfield,” Caroline Bingley added in outrage. “Really, these country folk! That is why I believe we must send Mr. Collins back to Longbourn as quickly as possible, and then convince Charles to leave Hertfordshire for London! Once he is back in Town, he will forget Miss Bennet, her degrading family, and indeed all the occupants of this miserable and lowly town! None of them are worthy of us!”

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.”

The threesome spun around in shock at these words to find that Mr. Collins was now standing at the door to library, his face pale.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Collins?” Caroline Bingley demanded icily.

“We are all one in the eyes of God,” Collins stated, his eyes odd, his posture uncertain.

“Mr. Collins,” Darcy said, setting aside his astonishment in favor of concern, “you should not be out of bed. Please, do sit down.”

Collins took a few wavering steps forward and Darcy grasped his arm and guided him to a nearby chair, where he collapsed more than sat.

“Er, thank you, Mr. er …”

“Darcy,” the gentleman replied, turning his gaze on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, “Perhaps one of you could summon Mr. Jones? I believe he should examine Mr. Collins.”

Miss Bingley was still red with outrage but with an explosive huff of her lips, and a shake of her skirts, she stalked out of the room with Mrs. Hurst close behind her.

“Where am I?” Collins asked plaintively.

“You are at Netherfield, Mr. Collins,” Darcy explained in a soothing tone, sinking down on a chair nearby. “You fell at the ball last night. Do you remember, sir?”

“I do not,” the rector replied, his forehead scrunched in worry. “I do not remember.”

“Well, that is perhaps not surprising,” Darcy said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “You hit your head quite hard.”

You said your name is Mr. Darcy, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?”

Darcy felt his body go rigid with discomfort, “Yes, Mr. Collins.”

“I am the rector at Hunsford, and your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is my patroness.”

“I see,” Darcy replied grimly. Lady Catherine was an imperious woman with a very high opinion of herself, and she only hired those who venerated her obsequiously. Her underlings were almost uniformly tiresome.

The injured man sat back in the chair, his gaze fixed on the book of sheep diseases, which was bewildering. Why would a parson care about sheep?

“That verse you quoted?” Darcy asked curiously.

“Yes, sir? Galatians 3:28?”

The gentleman from Derbyshire blinked in surprise, “You know the Bible very well, sir.”

He was genuinely astonished at this. Many clergyman had only a passing knowledge of the Scriptures, and Lady Catherine seemed an unlikely patroness for a true scholar.

“I know it all, I think. Well, perhaps not the entire Old Testament, but the New, yes.”

“What do you mean, you know it all, Mr. Collins?”

“I have it all in my head, sir,” Collins explained calmly, tapping his skull with one bony finger. “All of it.”

“You mean you have memorized the entire New Testament?” Darcy demanded in disbelief. Nonsense!

“I believe so.”

“The first chapter of John,” Darcy prompted, reaching for a Bible and opening it to the appropriate page.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God,” Collins began, and proceeded to recite the entire chapter. When he had finished, Darcy closed his mouth with an astonished click. 

“Word for word, Mr. Collins,” he breathed, more amazed than he had been in many a month, “and you truly know it all?”

“Yes.”

Darcy knew himself to be an intelligent man, but this was beyond belief, “How do you do it?” 

Collins’s brown eyes shifted away from the book on the sheep diseases to focus on his face, “I was born with the curse, Mr. Darcy. I remember everything I read so long as I concentrate.”

“Curse? Why would you call it a curse? It is a blessing!”

The rather portly man shook his head and turned to gaze out the window of the library, “My father was illiterate, Mr. Darcy, and did not approve of a boy who loved books. I had my addiction of reading beaten out of me at a young age. I was permitted to read the Bible because Mr. Collins wished for me to be a clergyman, but little else was permitted. At Cambridge, I read enough to pass any exams and that was a delight, but my father …”

He trailed away, his face downcast, and Darcy was filled with a sudden, disgusted horror. His own father had loved books and reading, and had inculcated that love in his son. To think of a man brutalizing his brilliant progeny over reading was beyond belief.

“I am sorry,” he stated awkwardly, suddenly aware that this was an extraordinarily frank conversation between two men but newly met. “I hope you will feel free to read any book you like in this library, Mr. Collins, though there are not many books here. My friend Mr. Bingley is a very pleasant man, but not a great reader.”

“Sheep diseases sound interesting.”

“Do they?”

Again, that hungry gaze was turned upon him, “Everything is interesting, Mr. Darcy.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Darcy stood up and hesitated. Collins seemed mostly rational but it seemed unwise to leave him alone. 

“Your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, is very rude to those who are under her in position or rank, which is essentially everyone,” Collins stated calmly.

Darcy let out a startled gasp, followed by a chuckle, “That is true, Mr. Collins. I confess that you are not entirely what I pictured when I imagined her latest clergyman.”

“He is unconscious, or dead.”

Darcy bit his lip in confusion, “Who is?”

The brown eyes turned upon him again, the man’s expression remote, “Mr. Collins. The other Mr. Collins. This is who I truly am, Mr. Darcy, but Mr. Collins has been in charge of my life for far too long.

Darcy felt his scalp creep with these words. It appeared that Mr. Collins was not, in fact, completely rational.

“Darcy, Mr. Collins!” Bingley cried out, stepping into the library with a footman at his heels, “How are you feeling, Mr. Collins.”

“Rather odd,” the portly man replied, pushing himself cautiously to his feet. “May I return to my bed now?”

“Certainly,” Bingley replied heartily. 

“May I borrow the book on sheep diseases?” Collins inquired piteously.

“Erm, yes?” Bingley said in a puzzled tone.

“Have you read Shakespeare?” Darcy asked gently.

“No, my father …” 

“You should start with that and come back to sheep diseases at your leisure,” Darcy interrupted firmly. “Come, I will carry the complete works up for you to read. You will enjoy it.”

A smile slowly spread across the parson’s homely face, “Yes, Mr. Darcy, I am sure I will.”

The footman held out an arm to the rector, who grasped it and began walking slowly out the door toward the stairwell.

Darcy, following behind with Bingley, opened his mouth to convey some of his remarkable conversation with Collins, then closed it when Bingley’s butler stepped into view.

“Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth Bennet have arrived and have asked to speak to you concerning Mr. Collins’s health. They are waiting in the sitting room, Mr. Bingley.”

Bingley’s expression grew hopeful and Darcy spoke up quickly, “I will escort Mr. Collins upstairs, Bingley. Perhaps you can tell the Miss Bennets that Mr. Jones will be arriving shortly and will provide an update in time.”

“Yes, Darcy, thank you,” Bingley agreed happily, his face turning yearningly toward the room where the lovely Miss Bennet awaited.

Darcy frowned slightly at this. He had been largely indifferent to his friend’s infatuation with Miss Bennet, but it was true that there seemed to be a deeper attraction to the young woman than usual. Perhaps Miss Bingley had a genuine reason to be alarmed.

He walked behind the footman and Mr. Collins and noted that the clergyman was limping slightly; his left foot seemed slightly impaired. On the second floor, Darcy was relieved to meet Mr. Jones, who had clearly just arrived.

“Mr. Jones. You made good time.”

“I was already on my way to Netherfield to check on Mr. Collins, sir,” the apothecary explained briskly. “It is very good to see you awake and walking about, Mr. Collins. How do you feel?”

Collins frowned at this, and swayed slightly, “I feel rather odd, Mr. … Jones? I do not remember falling at the ball and my head hurts.”

“That is not surprising,” the man finished smoothly, “but come, let us get you to your bedchamber where I can examine you.”

Darcy found himself following along in their wake, his mind a whirl of confusion. What was happening with this man? Based on Darcy’s knowledge of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Collins could only be a weak minded man with a cringing and subservient disposition; his aunt required such behavior in those under her authority. But here was a man who spoke boldly and claimed to know the entire New Testament by heart.

It was bewildering and fascinating. It was also none of his business. Netherfield was Bingley’s estate, not Darcy’s, and Collins was a man of the lower classes, far too plebian to be of particular interest to a gentleman of Darcy’s stature.

On the other hand …

No, he could not let it be. Collins was an enigma and given that Darcy was here to advise his friend, it was legitimate that he take a close interest in the individual who was not only an unexpected guest, but his aunt’s parson.

That was justification enough for Darcy to involve himself in this most bizarre of situations.

Author Note: I think we will all agree this is an odd premise, but I hope we can all enjoy the ride. For my fellow Star Wars fans, it is like Anakin Skywalker submerged in Darth Vader! Maybe if Vader got hit really hard on the head, Anakin would come out. Hmmm, possible idea for a Star Wars fic....

You all are awesome!


End file.
